


Just Like That

by Arwriter



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Connor whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gavin Reed Being Less of an Asshole, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jericho - Freeform, Protective Parent Hank Anderson, hurt Connor, temporary disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 22:08:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20104381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwriter/pseuds/Arwriter
Summary: It's too close to how it was last time. The helplessness, the fear, the loss.Hank can't lose another son. Not when he's just learning to be a father again.





	Just Like That

**Author's Note:**

> It's 3am and I decided to write this instead of my other ongoing projects  
I procrastinate my writing with more writing!

Somehow, the lack of response is worse than the blood. 

It’s blue, of course, coating the walls and the filthy floor, and maybe that’s why Hank doesn’t completely lose it at the sight. Because he’s so used to seeing red. He’s seen enough crime scenes to know what red stains meant, to know red meant tragedy, a family torn apart. 

This was blood. Hank knows that as well as anyone else. But Connor was so human, more than him, more than most, and sometimes he forgets their blood is a different color. 

Or maybe he’s just in denial. 

It had been two days. Two whole fucking days of the precinct chasing their tails in a frantic search, of Hank’s rising frustration and fury the only thing left to battle his crippling fear, of sleepless nights waiting for any sort of update. 

If he wasn’t constantly seconds away from losing his mind, he might have been able to appreciate how tirelessly the other officers were working to track him down. Hank hadn’t been the only one to learn to like the kid. 

Even Gavin’s protests had only been for show, void of any real menace, and quickly silenced as he got to work. 

They knew they’d find him. Connor had been close before he’d gone missing, and while the rest of the precinct might not be as efficient as him, finding murderers was still their job. 

_ They’d find him.  _ He’d had to keep telling himself that. A desperate mantra. 

He’d done something similar before, repeated a loop of ridiculously optimistic words when Cole had been in the hospital after-

_ But this isn’t that. _ It won’t be. Never again. 

He’d only gone home once after Fowler, uncharacteristically gentle, had generously reminded him he needed to feed Sumo. He’d practically been shoved out the door with orders to get some sleep and promises to call as soon as they had an update. 

Hank had taken one step inside his house and lasted about three seconds after Sumo whined when the door shut and nobody followed the Lieutenant inside. 

He hadn’t realized how prominent the android’s absence was, how comfortable he’d gotten with the kid constantly being at his side. 

But the house was  _ empty.  _ Lifeless. The quiet was a punch to the gut, a horrible reminder that Connor was gone, taken God knows where by a lunatic who had no idea how this was tearing Hank apart, and he couldn’t do a goddamn thing to save him. 

And Jeffery thought he could go home and  _ sleep.  _ Sleep it off and wait for an update like his wallet had been stolen. Like Connor was a replaceable object and not the closest thing Hank had to family. 

So he’d left Sumo with a neighbor and gone right back to work at the station, ignoring all of Jeffery’s reasonable misgivings and unappreciated concern. 

He couldn’t look at the files from the previous victims. Before, it hadn’t been a problem. Just another psychopath. 

Now, with Connor the last to be taken, a glance at the mangled corpses from humans and androids alike had sent Hank rushing to the bathroom, hunched over the toilet with nothing but coffee in his stomach to throw up. 

Hank picked up right where Connor had left off, doing all he could to put himself in the android’s mind and solve the case like him. If it was reversed, if Connor was the one searching, Hank had no doubt they’d have the perp in handcuffs in a matter of hours. 

But it was two days before they managed to get an address, Hank tearing out of the parking lot while Fowler called in backup. It was nearly three in the morning, and most of the officers had reluctantly gone home. 

Hank allowed himself to be angry with them. If he couldn’t focus on his anger, dwell in building rage, the worry would be overpowering. 

The previous victims had all showed up within three days. One had taken a week to appear, and the body had been destroyed beyond recognition. 

Hank decided not to think about what could be done to a person in two days. 

It was a forty minute drive to the old ranch outside the city, but Hank made it in twenty. He could only imagine how Connor would chastise him when he heard about his recklessness. 

Because he would be ok. After tonight, everything would go back to normal. He wouldn’t lose Connor. The world couldn’t possibly be that cold. 

The suspect bolts out the back door as soon as Hank burst through the front. He moves to pursue before quickly deciding that he didn’t give a shit, left to stand in the empty living room. 

“Connor?” He’d called, and he couldn’t have possibly spoken aloud before tonight because he would have noticed how awful he sounded, voice shaky and desperate. The feeling was achingly familiar, searching frantically, alone and unsure.  _ “Connor!”  _

He moved through the house, throwing open doors and flipping on lights, panic and dread rising dangerously high with each empty room and unanswered call. 

“Connor!” He resorts to screaming, having long ago lost the control to do anything else. “God fucking dammit--  _ Connor!  _ Answer me! Connor!” 

He wasn’t here. They’d have to start all over. There was no telling if Connor could survive that long, assuming he was even still--

The noise, tiny and almost inaudible, snapped him out of his spiral, dragged him back to cruel reality. Only this time, there was a spark of new hope. The last one he had left. 

It had been a whimper, small and pained, coming from the kitchen. And the pantry door was open ajar. 

Hank practically stumbles over his own feet in his haste to make it to the door, ignoring the deafening squeal created when he throws it open, the floor creaking as he steps inside. 

It’s a miracle his legs don’t give out right then and there. He has to press a hand over his mouth, choking back a sob, the dim room suddenly blurry. 

Because Connor is right in front of him, shirt stained with blue, puddle of dry thirium seeped into the floor where he sat. 

His hands are held high above his head, two metal rods sticking out of his palms, dripping with blue blood, keeping his arms in place. Hank’s stomach churns, and he has to quickly remind himself that androids don’t feel pain. 

It doesn’t make it any better. 

Connor’s head is tilted down, hair falling into his face, eyes half closed and out of Hank’s sight. He’s still- too still, and the Lieutenant feels that familiar sickening twist in his gut. 

But the LED isn’t dark, pulsing a slow, constant yellow, and Hank lets out a shaky breath as he steps forward. 

“Hey, Connor.” He keeps his voice low and gentle, slowly kneeling in front of the android. All he wants is to free Connor’s hands, to get him as far away from here as possible, but he needs the kid to see him first. “We found you, son. You ready to go home?” 

Connor doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. It was like he hadn’t even heard, hadn’t registered there was someone in the room. 

Hank feels something awful settle deep in his gut. 

“Connor,” he says, a bit firmer, slowly reaching out to cup Connor’s jaw. “Kid, come on, I--” 

As soon as his fingers graze Connor’s skin, the android lurches backwards with a strangled gasp, pressing himself up against the wall and trying to pull away from the touch. 

_ “No.”  _

“Connor,” Hank tries, forced to scramble back when Connor kicks out, fighting like a wild animal. “Connor, it’s me! It’s Hank!” 

But again, Connor doesn’t seem to hear him, staticky voice rising into pleading screams. “Stop it,  _ stop,  _ just-- just leave me alone I’m--” 

_ “Connor!”  _

Hank scoots closer, careful to avoid the android’s wild kicking, reaching out once again to hold Connor’s face in his hands. 

The reaction is instantaneous, Connor screaming with nothing but pure terror, breathing horribly familiar to what would be described as hyperventilating if he were human. 

He sure as hell looks human now. Hank doesn’t think he’s ever heard Connor scream before. Not like this. 

And then, for the first time, Hank sees Connor’s eyes. 

They were empty. Connor is alive, that much was clear, fighting, thrashing and trembling as Hank pulls his hands away again, but there’s no hint of any emotion in those eyes. 

It’s hard to be sure with the way Connor keeps moving, but he’s fairly sure his irises are littered with tiny cracks, deep brown faded to a dull gray. He hadn’t noticed before, but his eyelashes and eyelids are smeared with blue. 

“Oh god, kid.” 

Connor’s whole body is wracked with violent shivers, breaths morphing into sobs, and his unseeing eyes squeezed shut. The pantry is small, and with the way his hands are trapped there isn’t much room for him to move, but he seemed to be trying to curl in on himself, make himself as small as possible. 

“You’re ok,” Hank promises, heart breaking with each passing second. “I’m getting you home. You’ll be ok, we’ll fix you up.” 

He hadn’t wanted to move Connor until he was calm, but Hank can’t bring himself to wait any longer, thirium still pooling heavily in Connor’s opened palms.

Carefully, he reaches towards the metal rod protruding from Connor’s hand, the synthetic skin having already faded to white around the impaled area. 

Hank takes the android’s wrist, and all at once Connor’s broken eyes fly open, a sob catching in his throat. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Hank can see that Connor’s ears are also stained blue, and his stomach only dropped further. 

“No...no, no  _ no!”  _ His screams grow shrill as Hank begins to pull, metal sliding through flickering skin, and he was beginning to seriously doubt his knowledge of android’s inability to feel pain. 

Painful or not, Hank supposed having a metal rod sliding through your palm was a horrible experience no matter what. Especially if you didn’t know who was doing it to you. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, knowing full well that Connor can’t hear it. “I’m so sorry, son, I’m sorry, just hang in there. Almost done, I swear.” 

He can hear the sirens outside, can hear the shouts and orders of approaching officers, and only wishes Connor could hear the same, could know that he was finally safe. 

But the kid only screams again- just as horrible as last time- when Hank reaches for his other wrist. His free, bloodied hand claws at Hank’s, shaking too badly to get a good grip, the android still fighting blindly as his arm was guided forward. 

There are footsteps in the other room, voices Hank elects to ignore, not even bothering to turn when a shadow blocks the light from the kitchen. 

“Lieutenant--” 

“I’ve got Connor,” Hank says, more for himself than the rookie he’s refusing to look at. “Perp escaped out the back.” 

Connor’s hand pulls away, moving instead to pound uselessly at Hank’s chest, trying to push him away, breath dissolving into another panicked wave of sobs. 

The officer wasn’t moving, and Hank suddenly feels exposed, vulnerable, instinctively shifting to block Connor from their view. The kid wouldn’t want anyone else to see him like this. 

“Get out,” he snarls, harsher than was probably needed. He was so close to getting Connor free, to getting them both home. They could figure the rest out when they were safe.  _ “Go.”  _

“Is he--?” 

“Get the fuck out of here!” 

He’s all too aware of what he’s like when his anger gets the best of him, and the young cop is fleeing from the doorway within seconds, calling for the other officers to check the back door. 

Connor will make him apologize later, but right now it’s the least of his worries. 

Gentle as possible, he finally manages to free Connor’s other hand from the metal rod, the freedom only igniting a new flame in his desperate fight. 

Hank has to jump back when he kicks out again, thrashing violently with his now free hands, scrambling backwards, eyes squeezing shut again as he fights to get away. 

“Connor!” Hank shot out to hold Connor’s wrists, mostly in an effort to stop the android from hurting himself any further. He doesn’t have the strength to do any real damage to anyone else. “Connor  _ please.”  _

He isn’t really sure what he’s expecting. Being left blind, deaf, and defenseless would be hell for anyone, with or without a lunatic’s torture for two days straight. 

Connor is speaking a quiet, breathy whisper that Hank has to lean in to hear clearly, but when he makes out the words his heart fucking  _ shatters.  _

“I don’t want to die,” Connor’s saying, the words filled with such anguish and fear, and it takes Hank a moment to register the tears in his own eyes. “I- I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I...please, I don't…” 

Connor doesn’t stop, and Hank doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, how he’s supposed to help. But Connor is terrified, trapped, waiting for some kind of beating, and it’s torture for both of them. 

So Hank does the only thing he can think of. 

He can’t readjust his grip with the way Connor is still trying to pull away, but he slowly brings the android’s hands closer, letting them graze his jaw. 

Connor falls silent, eyes still shut like he can't stand to have them opened to nothing, breathing heavily as he carefully moves his hands across Hank’s face, over his beard and up to his eyes like he’s molding a statue, still tense like it's some kind of cruel trick. 

Hank can only wait silently, reluctantly releasing his hold, hoping Connor’s aware enough to understand, to recognize him, that there’s still a chance to--

“Hank?” 

Connor’s hands still, and the hope in his voice, hesitant, like he wants nothing more than to believe it, is enough to make Hank come undone. He doesn’t try to fight against the relieved sob that rips through his body. 

“It’s me, son,” he says, knowing Connor can’t hear it. “It’s me. I’ve got you. I promise, I’ve got you.” 

Holding his breath, Hank reaches for Connor’s shoulder, gently squeezing his arm in silent assurance, and it’s enough. 

All the tension seeps out of the android’s shoulders, and Connor falls forward into Hank’s chest, head resting against the Lieutenant. He wastes no time wrapping his arms around the kid and pulling him close. 

“Hank…” Connor doesn’t seem capable of saying anything else, clutching at Hank’s jacket like a lifeline, the fabric quickly soaked with tears. “Hank, I’m...I can’t--” 

“It’s ok,” Hank promises, hoping that although Connor can’t hear him, he could at least hear the vibration of his voice against his chest. “We’ll get you fixed up, kid. You’re safe now.” 

Connor only tightens his hold, and Hank immediately follows suit, one hand rubbing circles along his back, the other carefully cupping the back of Connor’s neck. 

He used to do the same thing with Cole when he was scared. Before--

Hank stops himself, pulls himself back to the present before memories can spiral out of control. This isn’t like last time. What happened with Cole will never happen again. 

Connor’s hair is wet with thirium, and the amount of blue surrounding them grows more concerning by the minute. They need to get Connor proper help. 

“I can’t see,” he says suddenly, like he’s just beginning to come to terms with it, and the terror returns to his voice all at once. “I- I can’t hear, he...he shut off my...I- I can’t repair it, I can’t--” 

“Hey.” And Connor must have been able to feel  _ something,  _ because he quiets almost instantly. Hank pulls back slightly, enough to once again hold the android’s face in his hands, hoping he understands. 

“You’re going to be just fine,” Hank says aloud, and this time it’s completely for his own benefit, although something in Connor seems to relax further at the grounding touch. “We’ll get you some help. You’ll be ok.” 

He brushes Connor’s hair out of his face, forcing a smile before he remembers that it goes unseen, and lets it drop back down to a worried frown. 

“Jer...Jericho,” Connor says after a moment, trembling still obscuring his too quiet voice. “They- they might be able to... _ Hank.”  _

His obvious distress is beyond understandable. Hank can’t even imagine what it’s like to not be able to hear yourself talk. 

He squeezes Connor’s shoulder, an attempt at some kind of confirmation. It was their best bet, because besides his desperate attempts at comfort, Hank didn’t know what the hell he was doing. 

“Come on.” It doesn’t look like Connor can walk on his own, and Hank has no inclination to find out if he’s wrong. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

He guides Connor’s arms up and around his neck, his head still resting against Hank’s shoulder, the Lieutenant wrapping one arm around his back, the other under his legs. 

Connor’s breath catches, but he doesn’t resist, just holds tighter and keeps his eyes closed. The house is significantly quieter than it was just a few minutes ago, most of the hushed voices coming from the kitchen. 

Hank realizes they’re all probably hovering around the pantry, waiting. He stands, keeping Connor close to his chest, and makes his way through the open door. 

“Lieutenant Anderson--” 

And he ignores every single voice calling out to him, every curious or alarmed stare, every question he can’t even begin to process.

He tightens his hold when he sees Gavin leaned against the wall by the open front door, the detective raising his eyebrows when he sees the blood stained android. 

“Jesus,” he calls, smug face decorated with its usual smirk. “You alright there, tin man?” 

Connor can’t respond so Hank doesn’t either, barreling past Reed and out the front door, traversing the stairs as carefully as possible. The last thing he needs is to trip and fall with a blinded, deaf android in his arms. 

Gavin follows him outside, stopping at the porch, watching as Hank makes his way to the car parked haphazardly in the dirt driveway. 

“Is he ok?” 

Hank ignores the call, deciding to dwell on if that was genuine concern coming from Reed’s mouth later, instead slowing his pace as he approaches the passenger side door, hesitating. 

He takes one of Connor’s hands from around his shoulders, guiding his fingers until they brush the side of the car door, letting him feel the metal, waiting for the desired effect. 

“We’re getting in the car,” Connor states, quicker than Hank would have expected, and he nods against him, hoping he can feel the gesture. 

His next dilemma was unlocking and opening the car door without jostling Connor too much and sending him into another panic. The kid was already heavier than he looked, and carrying him is harder than he would care to admit. 

“Here.” Gavin’s voice at his side makes him jump, Connor tightening his hold with a small whimper. “Where’re your keys?” 

Hank hesitates, before realizing that this isn’t the time for personal bias. Gavin was, to put it lightly, an asshole, but he wasn’t a monster. 

“Right pocket,” Hank replies, nodding to his jacket, and Gavin moves forward, maneuvering carefully to avoid touching Connor as he retrieves them. 

Reed unlocks and opens the door, stepping aside as Hank lowers Connor into the passenger seat, kneeling down to fasten the seatbelt around the android. 

“Our guys caught up to the bastard,” Gavin says, like it’s supposed to make Hank feel better somehow. “He’s in custody. After Connor identifies him…” 

He trails off, and Hank’s shoulders drop. Of  _ course,  _ Gavin knows by now. The man’s a shallow moron, but he wasn’t a detective for nothing. 

“Or...if he can’t--” 

“He’ll be able to,” Hank snaps, rising to his feet with a hand still on Connor’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine.” 

“Sure,” Gavin says, stepping back with his arms crossed. “Whatever. Just, uh...just let us know when he is. Ok?” 

Hank flashes the other detective a look, not sure what else to do except nod. They can both deny this conversation ever happened when things went back to normal. 

He turns his attention back to the far more important task, one hand on the edge of the car door, the other moving to gently give Connor’s shoulder another squeeze. 

Hank doesn’t pull away until the kid nods, shaking hands fiddling with each other, Connor scared and small against the car seat. 

Hank is already moving by the time the door closes, taking his keys from Gavin and rounding the front of the car, yanking open the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. 

He reaches out, tentatively, to touch Connor’s arm. The android flinches, presses up against the side of the car, brow furrowing. 

“Hank?” 

Hank responds by taking Connor’s hand, careful not to hold too tight, mindful of the hole that remains in his palm. But the contact is clearly all the confirmation Connor needs, and Hank doesn’t let go for the entire drive. 

  
  


In the end, it could have been so much worse. 

The technicians at Jericho are able to repair most of Connor’s injuries and stop anything that’s still bleeding. He’ll be weak for a few days, but Hank can take him home as soon as his hearing and vision are repaired. 

That, unfortunately, is where their luck runs out. 

Markus is out of the city on business, but Simon assures, too quickly to be particularly comforting, that they’ll be able to fix Connor. They just need to replace his damaged biocomponents. 

Damaged biocomponents that they, of course, don’t currently have compatible replacements for. Connor’s model was unique, Cyberlife’s last prototype before its fall after the revolution. 

But Simon had seemed confident that they’d be able to find something within a day, reaching out immediately to Markus and other Jericho leaders, promising Hank this wouldn’t be permanent. 

Connor had sunken back into his terror, clinging to Hank like he was convinced someone would try to tear them apart. Hank has no intention of letting go. 

“Can’t you talk to him?” Hank asks, earning a curious look from Simon. “Do your whole...android telepathic connection thing?” 

He knows it's not the right phrasing, but Simon seems to understand, gaze softening. 

“I wish I could,” he says. “But with the way he’s damaged...I’m not sure I’ll be able to get through to him. It could just make things worse. Markus might be able to, but…”

He trails off, and Hank nods. Right. He can’t exactly be annoyed, not with how much pressure Markus is under. 

“Just stay with him,” Simon says, like Hank had planned on leaving. “Make sure he knows he’s safe. Try to keep him calm. I’ll let you know as soon as we have something.” 

Hank nods, squeezing Connor’s hand. “Thanks.” 

Simon excuses himself, giving the two their privacy, and Hank scoots closer, resting on the edge of the bed Connor had been assigned to. 

He hasn’t let go of Connor’s hand since they’d gotten out of the car, but he found himself brushing away the android’s hair from his forehead, a reminder that he was right beside him. 

When Connor speaks, his voice is small and unsteady, the first words he’s said since leaving the ranch. “Are they...are they going to fix it?” 

Hank doesn’t know what to do, still at a loss for a proper way to communicate. All he can do is hold tighter and hope Connor understands that they’re doing all they can. They won’t give up. 

“Don’t leave,” is all Connor says, a small, pleading whisper. “Please. Don’t go.” 

Neither of them speak the rest of the night, Connor eventually fading off into whatever androids call their version of sleep. Hank shifts slightly, pulls out his phone to send a quick update to Fowler, but never moves his hand away. 

  
  


It’s another two days before they’re finally able to repair the rest of the damage, but to Hank, it felt like a lifetime. 

He wonders if Connor has any way of knowing how much time has passed, or if he’s stuck in what feels like an eternal limbo with nothing but touch and smell to guide him. 

He had spent most of the two days asleep, but Hank still moved only when he absolutely had to, never gone for more than a couple minutes while he used the bathroom and stretched his legs. 

The worst came when Connor woke up. 

Each time he seemed to relive his panic all over again, opening his eyes to nothing, fear and confusion overwhelming, trapped in a soundless vacuum he can’t escape from. 

Hank does his best to calm him back down, his presence the only thing able to get through to him, but every time still takes Connor a few minutes to remember, to recognize the Lieutenant. 

So when Josh and Simon enter the room with good news, it takes all of Hank’s self control not to break down right there. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep doing this. 

They keep Connor in stasis during what Hank can only describe as an operation. He waits outside, both to give the androids their space to work, and because he’s not sure he’ll be able to watch. 

Waiting in the hallway, he sinks to the floor, and tries very hard not to think about the memories stubbornly resurfacing. 

Memories of cradling a terrified, hurting child, memories of waiting outside a hospital room while someone he loves was operated on, memories of the desperate need for his son to be ok. For his family to come back to him. 

_ But this wasn’t that. _ Not today. Not again. 

And it isn’t. Because it's over in less than an hour, and there are no sympathetic, pitying looks from the people who come out of the room. 

Connor is ok. His systems are operational again, and all he needs is a few days of rest. He’ll wake up in an hour, and Hank could take him home any time. 

It’s so simple, Hank almost expects it to be a lie. 

He wants Connor to wake up at home, so he carries him outside and lays him gently in the backseat, trying not to think about how still the android looks. 

It’s a half hour later when Connor is back on the couch he’d taken up residence on these past few months. Sumo is brought home ten minutes later, already sniffing at Connor’s hand. 

And just like that, it’s back to normal. Just like that, like these past four days hadn’t been the worst of Hank’s life since that car crash. 

Just like that, everything’s supposed to be ok. 

It’s still too quiet while he waits. The stasis they put Connor into is clearly different than whatever he usually does when he rests.

Connor doesn’t breathe in this stasis. It makes him look like a corpse. 

But he wakes up, just like Hank had been promised, and it’s eerily similar to those past two days. 

Connor tenses the second he opens his eyes, breath catching, the panic in his now clear, brown eyes achingly visible as he frantically scans his surroundings. 

“Connor?” Hank calls softly, crouching beside his head. The android turns to him, eyes wide, before letting out a breath and practically sinking into the cushions.

He needs him to say something. He needs confirmation, a promise that it really is this simple, that the nightmare can finally end. 

“You’re safe,” Hank assures, a hand resting gently on Connor’s chest. “Is everything working ok? Can you...can you see me? Can you--” 

“Yes.” Connor turns to him again, still clearly shaken, but his small smile the only thing Hank needs to see. “I...I can see and hear, Hank. I’m ok.” 

He hadn’t fully realized just how badly he’d needed to hear Connor say it, letting his head fall to his chest as the weight of the whole ordeal seemed to crash down all at once. 

“Thank fucking god,” he mutters. “Don’t ever do that again, do you hear me?” 

Connor actually has the audacity to look  _ guilty.  _

“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes dropping to the floor. “I went after him by myself and I--” 

Hank shakes his head, effectively cutting him off. He stands up from the floor, Sumo doing the same, watching intensely. 

“Move,” he says, grinning when Connor obeys and makes room. “We’re taking the rest of the week off. We deserve it.” 

Connor smiles, Sumo throwing himself in both their laps as they settle into the couch, Hank reaching for the remote on the side table. Hank doesn’t miss the way the kid’s grin drops slightly, LED turning to a brief yellow. 

“Did you get him?” he asks, and Hank doesn’t need clarification. 

“Yeah. He’s behind bars, kid. He can’t hurt you.” 

Connor nods, chewing on his lip, the action painfully human. “I don’t want to see him.” 

“You won’t have to,” Hank promises, understanding. “We have enough evidence to put him away for good. You don’t have to think about him ever again.” 

“Thank you.” 

Hank’s stomach twists, knowing he’ll never truly be able to know what Connor had gone through, what the man had done to him. For all he knows, damaging his ears and eyes had been the least of Connor’s problems. 

“Listen,” he starts, horribly aware of how bad he is at this. “I don’t...if you need to talk, I’m always right here. You know that, right?” 

Connor just nods again, eyes sliding back down to his lap, fingers running through Sumo’s fur. 

“I mean it,” Hank continues. “I know you’re...you’re going through a lot so if you need anything...I’m not the best at dealing with shit, but I’ll listen. Anytime you need me to.” 

Connor doesn’t move, still staring down at his lap, petting Sumo becoming an almost absent gesture. When the silence goes on just a bit too long, almost suffocating, Hank knows better than to push and backs down, turning on the television, the volume on low to some late night news show. 

“I knew you were coming,” Connor says after a few minutes, voice small again, but there’s no fear, and he finally meets Hank’s eyes. “Even before...before he took away…”

“Connor--” 

“I knew you were coming.”

Hank scoffs, aware it's far from the best response. “Course I was fucking coming. You’d do the same for me.” 

Connor nodded, straightening suddenly, determined, like he needed the Lieutenant to know. “I would.” 

Like Hank had ever doubted it. 

He clears his throat, eyes back on the TV. “I didn’t leave. You, uh, you told me not to so...so I didn’t. You aren’t alone, Connor.” 

It’s about as sincere as he knows how to be, and completely out of his comfort zone. But it’s exactly what Connor needs to hear, and the growing smile is all Hank needs to know he at least did something right. 

“I know,” the android says softly. “Thank you, Hank.” 

They don’t say anything after that, huddled on the couch with a blanket, Sumo draped over their laps. Connor turns up the volume on the TV, and Hank knows better than to turn off the lights. 

They’ll have to talk later about the danger of bottling up experiences, especially ones that cut so deep. Connor was new to the whole emotions thing, the whole  _ human  _ thing in general, but he’d been the one to help Hank see that the only way was forward. 

But that could wait. Connor was alive, he was home, and right now that was the only thing that mattered. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom will be the death of me, and I owe Kaspooky my soul for introducing me to these characters


End file.
